


strangeness and charm

by jadeddiva



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa and Willas have danced around each other for ages; at Margaery and Jon’s wedding, they decide it’s better to hold on to what they have as tightly as possible.  Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strangeness and charm

She kisses him lazily.  Her hair is fisted in his right hand while with the left he traces her spine.

She pulls back, eyes wide open and bright blue, and smiles at him.

He smiles back.

...

She checks her makeup once, twice, rubs the flecks of mascara out from underneath her right eye and checks her lipgloss.  Slides her hands over her hips, checks the sash of her dress, adjusts her curls so they fall over her left shoulder.  Checks the earrings to make sure that they’re securely on, adjusts the necklace to make sure the clasp is behind her neck.

The living room is strangely silent, and Sansa decides she can’t possibly worry about that right now.  

She takes one last, deep breath before opening the door to go look for her shoes.

The only other bridesmaid left in the room is Arya, who is sitting on the couch with her feet dangling over the arm, playing Candy Crush on her smartphone.   She’s going to mess up her dress, but that’s not Sansa’s problem now.

“Where did Leonette go?” she asks her sister, delicately stepping over stray hangers.

“The photographer wanted some shots of her and Margaery Alerie in the garden,” Arya says.  “Fuck me, this game is the worst.”

“Have you seen my shoes?” Sansa asks.  She’s not going to tell Arya she’ll crush her dress, she’s not going to say anything... “If it’s so bad, why do you play it?”

“All the boxes are by the closet door,” Arya says.  “And it’s not bad, it’s a delightful way to waste time.”

Sansa sighs, then goes to rummage through empty boxes of shoes looking for her own.  The bedroom – Margaery’s own, actually – is a war-zone but it won’t matter because Margaery won’t sleep here anymore, she’ll be off to see castles in Scotland with Jon for their honeymoon tomorrow and tonight they will be staying in a guest house out by the lake.  Sansa assumes there will be a maid to clean it up tomorrow.  She rolls her eyes.  She’s known Margaery for over fifteen years but the sheer wealth of the Tyrells is something she’ll never truly understand.  Wealth brought on by owning the largest chain of organic grocery stores in the country, but wealth nonetheless.

“Got them!” she cries out, pulling the towering black platforms out of the wreckage just as there is a knock on the door.

“Everyone decent?” a voice calls out.

“Never!” Arya responds, but Sansa opens the door to find Margaery’s oldest brother, Willas, outside of it.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, “um, I need Margaery’s garter.”

Sansa raises her eyebrows. “She sent you to get it?”

“I know, awkward right?” Willas laughs.  “Do you know where it is?”

Sansa shakes her head and opens the door wide.  She thinks she saw the garter by the nightstand, but she’ll have to sort through protective plastic and tissue paper before she finds it.

“Nice to see you clean up well, Willas,” Arya remarks from her place on the chair.  Willas leans on the doorframe, rests his cane on the nearby dresser.

“I could say the same for you.  What level have you made it to since last night?”

“Forty-seven.  I am living the dream.”

Willas laughs, and Sansa finds the garter behind a card that Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Rhaegar gave Margaery this morning (along with some awesome diamond earrings  that made Margaery squeal with glee).  “Found it!” she cries out, standing up awkwardly for someone not wearing heels. 

“Thanks,” Willas says as Sansa places it in his outstretched palm.  “I appreciate you diving into the wreckage for the sake of three minutes of my sister’s wedding extravaganza.”

“Hey now,” Sansa leans against the opposite doorframe, “she’s my bestie.  I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Willas looks at the garter in his hand and closes his fist around it.  “Of course.  See you downstairs.”

When she closes the door behind Willas, she takes a moment to think how handsome he looked in the dark grey suits that Margaery and Jon picked out for the groomsmen and ushers.  Willas and his brother Garlan are not members of the wedding party but they’ll be escorting all of the grandparents to their seats and, well, he just looked handsome.

“Get drunk and bang him finally,” Arya chimes in from her reclined position.

Sansa pretends not to hear her, but she’d be a fool to admit she hasn’t had a crush on Margaery’s older brother since the first time she met him all those years ago.  That had been before a crutch became a permanent accessory, but that has never really mattered to her much at all.  She likes his eyes, not the same hazel as Margaery but this rich, pretty brown.  And his hair, especially since he started growing it out.  And the fact that she’s never treated her like a little tag-along like Robb and Jon always did.

She grabs her shoes.  “I’m going down,” she tells Arya.

“That’s what she said,” is her sister’s only response.

...

He stops when she finishes keening, presses a kiss against the inside of her thigh, looks up at her, wondering if this is too far.

She smiles at him, and reaches to draw him up, pressing kisses against his lips while her hands reach for his belt.

He sighs against her lips and stops kissing her as much as it kills him.  Taking her hand in his, he draws her towards one of the couches that occupy the room.

She smiles as she straddles his hips, lips finding his once again.

...

 

Willas hands the garter off to Mom, who takes the moment to straight out his collar. “You look lovely, dear,” she tells him.  “Are the other girls ready?”

“I think so,” Willas says, following her out the French doors to the garden, where Margaery looks so incredibly happy.   She beams when the photographer asks for her to turn her head, and she keeps looking off to the side of the house, where the men are allegedly being photographed as well.

She should be happy: she’s been with Jon since high school even though richer men have come along during two separate deployments to try to woo her.  She’s been faithful.  So has he.  They love each other.  This is their day.  And Willas is happy for them and jealous as fuck.

“We’ll need them to come down soon,” Mom frets, though her worries increasing with every laugh that comes from the garden. 

“I’m sure they will,” Willas says.  He turns away from the happy scene to go find something to drink.

When he was sent to fetch the garter, he knew Sansa would be upstairs.  He just didn’t know how beautiful she would look in the black gowns Margaery had selected.  Black and gold was the theme, and the house looked beautiful in shades of black, white, and gold – even the massive ballroom they never used but that was built in the house by previous generations of Tyrells, but Sansa -

– something about the black made her skin paler, her cheeks rosier, her hair flame like the setting sun -

He finds the bartender idling in the foyer, and asks for some whiskey – two fingers, on the rocks.  Mom would be pissed if he was drunk before the cake was cut.

He’s grateful that no one bothers him as he nurses his drink safely out of sight of the wedding planner and his sister.  He wanders through the back halls, out the side door, and watches Jon and his brother and best friend take pictures on the lawn.  Loras is in the wedding party as well, though Willas and Garlan are not, and Willas is very relieved to not have to walk down the aisle to the beat of music.  Last night at the rehearsal, everyone seemed to get the memo about how to walk save Arya, Sansa’s little sister, who tripped up Loras so many times the wedding planner Selyse grew angry and it took Sansa’s father to calm her down.

He remembers sharing a look with Sansa over his sister’s shoulder.  Sansa, the maid of honor.  Sansa, who he most certainly hasn’t liked since she turned sixteen, dyed her hair black, and started calling herself Alayne in a fit of youthful rebellion that ended once Catelyn Stark found her making out with Joffrey Baratheon in the back of his mom’s SUV (that was a bit gross).

 It hasn’t been since he picked them both up from school while on break from college, and Sansa peppered him with questions like she always did.

It certain hasn’t been since he ran into her on campus and she was all long legs and short shorts and an easy smile and a ready invitation for coffee that he took her up on until he finished his Master’s degree.

Sansa, who he thinks he could love something deep and fierce and passionately, if given the chance.

Sansa, who has been his sister’s best friend for so many years he’s lost count.

He takes another swig of his drink.

Not Sansa.  No, not her.

He finishes and passes it off to a waiter as he heads to the garden to find his family.  The wedding planner flits around the edges of his vision as she directs Willas and Garlan to where the guests are gathered, waiting to be seated.    The music starts, Willas extends his arm to Grandmother Tyrell, and hobbles down the aisle.

When everyone is seated, Willas takes his place in the front row.  Looking back behind him, he can see the wedding party begin the procession – first Arya with Loras, then Leonette with Robb, and finally Sansa with Sam Tarly, Jon’s best friend from the service. 

She looks so beautiful that Willas turns his head away for a moment, blinded by the feelings inside of him.  When he turns back, she is gone, already waiting by the arch for her cousin’s bride.  

Willas likes watching the groom the first time the bride comes into view.  Sure enough, when Margaery walks through the doors and out onto the lawn, Jon’s jaw drops and his face turns into something else entirely.

It is at that moment that Willas realizes Sansa is looking at him.  She smiles, and he smiles back, then turns to see his beautiful baby sister as she approaches her soon-to-be husband, tears in her eyes.

...

She can feel the bass beats of the song against her back, a rapid staccato that slows down and picks up and she twists her fingers in his hair and concentrates on the movement of his tongue, which, if she doesn’t know any better, is following that beat as well.

She shudders, and stifles a moan in the heavy drapes that hang by her head.

...

The wedding pictures take forever, and Sansa really has to pee.

She scurries to find a restroom that’s free in this gigantic house (Garlan said there were something like fifteen on the main floor alone, and Sansa thinks in all the years she’s known Margaery she’s maybe found five?).   There is no line for the maid of honor and she’s washing her hands and picking back up her bouquet before she knows it.

And walking straight into Willas, who is holding a drink in his hand.  He stops her before she knocks him over, hand on her hip, and she feels hot all over.  Without thinking, she reaches for his whiskey and takes a sip.

“Thanks,” she says, forcing a smile that doesn’t betray her quivering stomach. 

“You need to start drinking,” he tells her, grabbing a glass of red wine from a passing waiter.  “After all, you’ve got that speech tonight.”

She switches drinks and takes a sip of wine. “Yep.”

Willas looks at her, waiting for her to keep speaking, and when she doesn’t, he blushes.  It’s adorable, and it makes her stomach flip more, and she wants to kiss him but she’s not nearly drunk enough to do that.

Instead, she says “See you around” and goes off to join the bridal party for introductions.

Later, she wonders about kissing Willas.  She fiddles with ideas for her speech while Jon spins Margaery around during the first (choreographed) dance, and then when Jon dances with Aunt Lyanna and Margaery with Mr. Tyrell.  It’s sweet, in a weird way, that her best friend married her cousin.  She doesn’t know how sweet it would be if she married her best friend’s brother –

_Married?_

Sansa takes another swig of wine, and tries to find Willas in the mess of people.  He’s seated with Margaery’s parents and grandmother and girls keep walking by him and bumping into his chair but he’s only looking at one person.

Her.

“Oh Sansa my darling,” Margaery says, falling into the seat next to her and wrapping her arms around Sansa’s neck, “I am so ridiculously happy!”

“You may be ridiculously drunk too,” Sansa tells her friend, letting Margaery rest her head against her. “But it is a lovely wedding.  I am happy for you both.”

“Be happy too, Sansa.  Just be happy.” Margaery squeezes her tighter before racing back to the dance floor, heading towards the cake.

Cake.  Fuck.

Sansa stands and hurries over just as Sam starts his best man’s speech.  She doesn’t pay much attention to it, trying to figure out exactly what she wants to say and what she wants it to mean, especially since Willas keeps watching her and how long has he been doing it? Has he seen her watching him?

He smiles at her, giving her a ‘thumbs up’.  She smiles weakly back.

The mic is handed to her and she smiles.  “Hello, I’m Sansa Stark and I’m in the unique position of being both the cousin of the groom and the best friend of the bride.”  Laughter.  Deep breath.

“I think...I think we always want to find our soulmate,” she says carefully, “and we despair if those we date aren’t ‘the one’ (air quotes with a mic – classy, Sansa) or if we have to kiss a few frogs.  Margaery and Jon were lucky, because they found their soulmate fairly early on.  Anyone who has known them can tell you how much they were meant to be together, and how perfect they are, and I don’t think they would have realized it if Margaery hadn’t gone out on a limb and asked Jon out in high school (more laughter).”  Deep breath.

“Maybe we meet the people we’re meant to be with when we don’t expect it, and maybe they’ve always been there all along, but the bottom line is, we’re lucky when we find them and we never want to let go.  To  Margaery and Jon Targaryen – keep holding on to what you’ve got.”

Lift the glass.  Clink.  Take a sip.  Cheers.

Sansa puts the glass down, claps when the cake is cut, and when the servers are placing dishes in front of everyone, she approaches Willas.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.  He nods, and they walk into the hallway.

Inside, the DJ starts up with dancing.

Outside, Sansa’s hands feel clammy but she’s going to do this.

“What’s wrong?” Willas asks.  “Are you feeling all right? Do we need to call a doct-“

She puts her hands on either side of his face and kisses him.  It’s awkward at first, noses bumping and he’s so still that she fears that she’s making a mistake.  Then, he puts his hand on her hip again (her knees go just a bit weak) and kisses her back.

“Get a room.”

They break apart suddenly, fearful who has seen them, but it’s just Arya coming back from one of the man bathrooms.  “No, seriously, get a room.  I’m about to bust some moves up in this joint and you don’t want to be caught in the aftermath.”  She saunters into the ballroom, full swagger, and when she’s gone Sansa collapses into giggles on Willas’s shoulder.

“Oh god,” Willas says softly, “is it that ridiculous?”  He strokes her back softly and it feels like all of her nerves are on fire.

“What?” Sansa pulls back, hands still resting on his shoulders.  “Arya?”

“Is that what you’re laughing about?” he asks.  “Not kissing me.”

Sansa furrows her brow.  “There is nothing funny about kissing you.”

Willas looks her straight in the eyes.  “Prove it.”

So she does.  And he seems to be convinced.

“Your speech,” he says softly when they part.  “Is this – “

“I’m holding on to what’s been there for a long time.”  Sansa brushes his hair off of his face, resting her hand on the nape of his neck.  “At least –“

“Oh, nope, been there for a long time for me too,” Willas admits.  “But my injury – “

Sansa kisses him softly.  “Don’t care.”

“I’m Margaery’s older brother  - “

“She won’t care.”

“Sansa,” Willas sighs.  He look down, and then back up at her.  Both hands are on her hips. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he says suddenly, reaching for her hand.

“And go where?” Sansa asks. 

“The library,” he says, turning and stopping so fast and she slams into him.  He kisses her then, hand cupping her face, thumb rubbing against her cheekbone, and Sansa hates herself for taking so long to figure this out, but she’s happy that it’s happening now.

There’s a cheer from the ballroom behind them, and she smiles.  Arya was right, but she didn’t need to get drunk to begin with – just get bold.  Willas has always been there, and as he leads her to the library, she’s eager to see exactly what their own future might be.

...

He closes the library door behind them, locking it with a flick of his wrist while her fingers trail up his shoulder and rest at the nape of his neck.  He wants to moan, he’s wanted this for so long, but instead he turns and kisses her like he’s got nothing left to lose because he doesn’t, not anymore, not after tonight.

Instead, he’s gaining everything he ever wanted.

 


End file.
